


Don't Fly By The Waves (Or Your Wings'll Get Wet)

by AssassinOfRome



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sickfic, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssassinOfRome/pseuds/AssassinOfRome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Neil couldn't help but scream when he first realised his feathers were falling out."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gorgeous "Taking Flight" by ladyvictoriadiana; thank you so much.
> 
> The title comes from the poem Icarus by Kate Tempest, one of my personal favourites.
> 
> I've not written for this fandom for a while and I'm using an iPod so bear with me.
> 
> Otherwise enjoy!

Neil couldn't help but scream when he first realised his feathers were falling out. 

Luckily, his parents were away at a weekend resort with some of his father's very important colleagues. Neil hadn't caught the name; he usually stopped listening when his parents talked about work as his father only mocked him for not understanding the intricacies of his work. Neil had looked to his mother for support, but she instead ignored him, and focused on nodding in all the right places. Sometimes he couldn't help but loathe her. She never stood up for herself, or her son, and acted like she never had any intention to. Maybe she liked living this way, never having to make a decision. Neil couldn't stand it.

The thought made another feather tumble from the moulting mess of his spine. This was not good, not at all. He was nineteen, for fuck's sake, not ninety; his plumage should be in its prime. Instead his feathers covered the bed, stabbing his shoulders and scratching his cheeks. 

He leapt from his bed, and staggered slightly, heart thumping in his throat. He felt queasy just looking at the spread. He'd lost eight feathers overnight, six from his left wing and two from his right. Sure, he'd lost the odd outer feather before; who hadn't? But never this many and never this quickly.

He was sick.

Checking that none of his nosy neighbours were peeking in the windows, he crept over to the bathroom. His wings didn't feel any lighter, and still responded when he stretched them out. Craning his neck to stare over his shoulder, he couldn't see any bald patches, though the skin felt a little dry. 

Turning, he took a deep breath, and clutched the sink with both hands. His stomach tightened, mind racing as he tried to think of any possible explanation. Had he been ill recently? Not especially; it was summertime and apart from the odd burst of hay-fever, he'd felt healthy. Stressed? That was true; he'd been working hard at summer school, maybe a bit more than necessary. But his father had been so proud; he couldn't disappoint him now. 

Oh, who was he kidding? He was already a disappointment. His father hadn't smiled at him since he'd caught him snogging the gardener. George hadn't deserved his father's aggressive treatment; he'd been a sweet and gentle boy, and always worked hard tending to his mother's failed attempts at horticulture. The flowers, once blooming brightly, had all died when Mr Perry had chased George from the property. It was unlikely that he'd ever find local work again; Neil's father had his ways of condemning anyone he didn't like to inescapable unemployment. 

Neil winced, remembering George's terrified gaze as he ran away from the Perry household. It was all Neil's fault. He never should have engaged in relations with George. Not only was it dirty and sinful but the other boy had been so naive. And he kissed so sweetly, like nothing was wrong. 

This had to be the reason, right? Why would God give his greatest gift, gorgeous pure angelic wings, to a disgusting invert? It all made sense, in an oddly fucked up way. Still, Neil smiled at his reflection, not pausing to see how gaunt his cheeks were.

If he didn't act on these... urges, he wouldn't be punished. His wings would be thick and full again before anyone could notice that there had been a problem. It would be easy; he was going back to school at the end of the week, and there wasn't any temptation there.

That was true, until Neil met Todd fucking Anderson.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot begins!
> 
> This will mostly follow the plot of the film, with some altered and additional scenes. I'm not sure what will happen with the ending; you'll have to keep reading!

Welton had a hierarchy like everywhere else. And like everywhere else, it was invariably tied to wings. 

Those with bat wings were treated like second-class citizens; that was a given. The disgusting stretches of skin and bulging bones were associated with everything wrong in their society. Criminals, degenerates, inverts; all were marked out by their hellish wings. Their souls were as dark as their nightmarish skin. Neil couldn't help but be relieved as he took his seat next to his father admits the chatters of new parents. There wasn't a bat-wing in sight. Neil hadn't ever seen a pair in person before, but they were splashed all over the news whenever a major crime came up. Serial killers, as a rule, had the biggest, boniest, most bat like monstrosities. And it suited them. Made them easy targets. Not that anyone like that would dare appear at Welton's opening ceremony.

Despite his sins, Neil still had bird wings, like the majority of the population. They were so common that distinctions had to be drawn using size as colour instead of just variety. Neil's were chocolate brown, same as his hair. It was normal to match, but the colour was a little odd. It was too close to morbid black for some peoples' liking, but when they glinted gold in the sun, no one could deny that he looked just as charming as a white winged person, if not moreso.

White wings were a gift not often given, but always honoured. They were signs of true breeding, an elite that Neil's father was desperate to reach. At private school, they were more common than average. Cameron smiled smugly every time he flexed his swanlike wings. He'd been insufferable during the Welton Welcome, preening and stretching, as he carried his school flag. He was dying for someone to comment on their growth - his wings had lengthened by at least a foot over the summer. Neil wondered if he was overcompensating for something. Soon, Cameron's wings would outgrow him; he wasn't particularly tall, and nothing looked worse than oversized wings on a tiny body. 

Pitts also had enormous white wings, but they suited him; he was long and lean, and when he humbly hung his head, he could have been mistaken for a pious pilgrim. He'd also had a growth spurt, the tips of his wings now brushing the dusty Welton floors. For all the money the school gained from tuition fees, they never spent a cent on proper cleaners. Tight bastards. 

Next to him, Meeks' wings looked small, but he was simply average, like Neil. He also matched, hair and feathers the colour of copper wire, and just as shiny. Meeks was lucky for his wings' natural glossiness; some would pay good money for that gingery glint. If he had a secret, he never confessed it; he just washed and groomed regularly. Not that Meeks kept secrets, not with wings like that. Tidy wings, tidy mind, as the old phrase went. 

In comparison, Knox looked like a perpetual mess. His feathers were pure gold, but were constantly matted and tangled. Brushing them out for special occasions led only to shedding and screams. Still, the colour was a plus -gold wings were traditionally trustworthy and would take Knox far in his legal career. He still had an adorable amount of fluff near his shoulder-blades, which suited his naive nature. They were also a little on the small side, explaining why he didn't flaunt them as freely as his friends. 

Charlie had no such insecurities. His wings were always flared out, bright and proud in the sea of browns and blondes. Trust Dalton to have parrot wings; his scarlet feathers made him easy to spot in a crowd. He attributed this to a childhood spent in South Africa; whatever it was, Charlie made a statement wherever he went. Neil felt dark and dull in comparison, but then again, so did everyone else. He certainly drew the eye away from the dull dean and his droning speech.

Neil wasn't afraid of admitting that he paid no attention to Nolan's opening address. The man trailed out the same anecdotes every year; statistics that raised the odd eyebrow and made everyone else wonder what they were having for dinner. Neil was just happy to sit down; whilst marching in with the flag procession, he'd felt a little woozy, the candlelight making his head ache. He wanted to tilt his head back; that may ease the pounding in his eardrums. As if aware to the lack of attention, Nolan's wings flapped and fidgeted behind him. Being ex-army, it was only natural for him to have the wings and eyes of a hawk. Birds of prey had always been popular with the military. 

Neil's jaw dropped, however, when the stuffy scholar introduced the newest member of staff. He looked meek enough; a friendly face lined from laughter and a modest form, neither fat nor thin, neither tall nor short. Brown hair growing grey at the temples, and soft brown eyes. A simple enough man. Yet when he stood, out from his spine curled the most stunning wings Neil had ever seen. They were bright blue and almost transparent, darkening around the edges. Insect wings were more common among the lower classes but they had the potential to be stunning. Butterfly wings, like Keating, were famed; they often belonged to exceptionally influential people. The Kennedys were butterfly-winged, as were the Lincolns. To see them on an English teacher was unusual, but a warm feeling spread through Neil. In contrast, a moment later, he felt a jab to his ribs from his father's bony elbow. 

'Look,' his arm seemed to say. 'Take note of him, son. He'll take you far.'

Keating sat, and the spectacle was over, though Nolan still blabbered on. Neil felt his attention wander again, as the resident speaker was introduced; Alexander Carmichael, the oldest living student of Welton would surely drag the service on for another twenty minutes. Turning to shoot a smile at one of his friends, Neil stopped short. His eyes were drawn instead to a lonely boy at the back of the room, wedged between two wide shouldered men. Their hefty wings had nearly obscured the poor lad. He had scrunched himself up small, as if overwhelmed by the size of the room and his companions. His gaze flickered around anxiously, never settling for too long in any particular place. Even from this distance, Neil could see his throat bobbing as he swallowed down his nerves. 

'And he has good reason to be anxious,' Neil thought, as he locked onto the frightened blue eyes of the stranger. 

'He's not got a feather in sight.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter - ayyyy!
> 
> Hopefully this'll be the last chapter written on iPod so spelling and grammar should be improved. Unfortunately, I don't know when this will next be updated, as I am going back to school.
> 
> Still, hope you enjoy!

Neil had to get closer, to marvel at the mysterious boy with no wings. Around him, new students scrabbled like baby birds, either clinging to or avoiding their parents. There were uniform and feather corrections from fussy mothers, and chastising sighs from impatient fathers, embarrassed by their sons' childish tears. So it goes.

Before he could find the stranger, however, he was confronted by Nolan, who was shaking his father's hand with a slimy smugness that made Neil's stomach churn. The older Perry showed no signs of revulsion, nor any other outward emotion. He could not care less for Nolan, aside from his scholarly position.

"We're expecting great things of you, Mr Perry." the old teacher smirked, shaking Neil's hand with reduced enthusiasm. He tried to smile, and promised to do his best, but Nolan turned away sharply. For a moment, Neil thought he caught the headmaster glaring at his wings, which had splayed out in the new freedom of the corridor. It had been a Welton joke for many years that Nolan could smell trouble (and if not, his dog definitely could). Neil felt his wings bristle in response; he had not lost many feathers, and so the old man could not have suspected any foul play. Still, it put Neil on edge. He couldn't be too careful. 

Thankfully, Nolan quickly shuffled off to rub shoulders with another pair of parents, and Neil found himself alone with his father. Cases in hand, the moment of farewell came.

"You heard what I said to Nolan, Neil." His father's tone was gruff enough to conceal any affection. He certainly hasn't said anything positive to the dean; not today, at least. "You will not disappoint us. No more of that nonsense with the garden-"

"No sir. It wont happen again." Neil agreed, though his heart clenched. Perhaps it would be best to focus on academia. He had always been a good student - one of Welton's best, allegedly. His summer school grades backed him up, difficult as it had been to maintain them. "I'll make you proud."

"I'm sure you will." His father's lips twitched; the closest he ever got to a smile. His wings folded inward neatly, as he held out his hand for Neil to shake. Like Nolan's, they were hawk wings, beautifully maintained, and army-regulation smart. Nothing less would do. "We'll see you again at Christmas."

"Yes sir. Have a safe journey home." His father turned to leave, and suddenly a thousand unsaid words crawled up Neil's throat. He wanted to argue, to explain, to articulate what he felt in his tumultuous mind. His father turned, and Neil realised that he had called out, hand raised and wings flared. He retracted them self-consciously, hunching in on himself.

"What is it boy?" His father frowned, raising a curious eyebrow. Neil's resistance faded as soon as it had arrived and he swallowed, forcing a grin.

"Give Mother my love." He finished weakly. "I know she misses me when I go away."

"Hmph," his father responded, clearly not appreciating the emotion. Neil had always been feminine in that respect: it wasn't healthy. His father had hoped that boarding school would rid him off that trait, but Neil's letters home revealed that to be far from the case. Still, there was another year, and then medical school. Perhaps that would straighten him out. "Hurry along, Neil. The dean is expecting you. Something to do with extra-curriculars?"

Nodding, Neil quickly turned on his heel and scampered into the school, leaving his father's disdainful tutting behind. The breeze caught in his feathers, ruffling them in the setting September sun.

It would not do to keep the dean waiting.

* 

Neil arrived just in time to hear his name called by Doctor Hager, amongst a list of others. In greeting, Charlie tugged as Neil's sleeve as they struggled up the stairs. It was not built to hold twenty boys at once, and the wood creaked ominously. Still, the crowd didn't stop Hager from demeriting Meeks and Pitts for muttering. They had the worst luck; they were always caught chatting. Rolling his eyes in sympathy, Neil smiled at his friends, and held up a pair of crossed fingers. Meeks clasped his hands in mock prayer and Pitts mouthed words of luck. Both knew how many extra-curricular activities Neil had applied for, and how desperate he was for each one. The annual especially; Neil loved to write. 

The boys shuffled into a line in front of the dean's desk, which was impeccable as always. Only then did Neil spot the odd wingless boy, who stared at the ground like he wishes it would swallow him whole. He didn't even notice when Cameron smashed into his shoulder in his eagerness to enter the room.

"Ah Mr Cameron, there you are." The dean smirked wryly, making Cameron flush, his wings expanding despite the cramped conditions. "How's your father?"

"Very well, sir." Cameron stammered. Neil felt another tug on his sleeve; Charlie was barely holding in his smile. Neil's cheeks began to ache at the effort of not laughing. Cameron could always be counted on to toady up to any authority figure present. 

"Mr Anderson," Nolan turned sharply to the wingless boy, whose eyes widened in response. So that was his name. "Since you're new here, let me explain that at Welton I assign extra curricular activities on the basis of merit and desire. These activities are to be taken every bit as seriously as your class work, right boys?"

"Yes sir!" The words were chanted military fashion. Cameron even began to scrape a bow; Charlie's grip tightened and his wings shuddered as he struggled to hold in the hilarity. Cameron shot Charlie a dirty look; the pair's mutual dislike of each other was common knowledge. How the two had ended up as roommates was beyond Neil. 

"Failure to attend required meetings will result in demerits." The dean threatened as he picked up several files. Neil remembers Meeks and Pitts, already in negative merits within five minutes of starting school. He hoped his friends would have better luck with their extra-curriculars; Meeks was tipped for Honour Council, but there was a limited number of places. Pitts would be happy enough with chemistry club and soccer; anything to keep him from cross-country. Despite his long limbs, Pitts was the worst runner this side of the Atlantic. 

"Now, Mr Dalton; the school paper, the Service club, soccer, rowing." The dean sounded almost bored rattling off the extracurriculars, and the mirth dropped from Charlie's face. He refused to be more excited than the dean, though Neil could see he was disappointed. Charlie had seemed destined for the school orchestra, but his grades hadn't been the best. Not for any real reason; the exams just hadn't agreed with him. To have music taken away was a blow; he'd have to practise elsewhere. 

"Mr Overstreet; Welton Society Candidates, the school paper, soccer, Sons of the Alumni club." Knox was visibly relieved and made his thanks known, beaming at his friends. Neil couldn't help but be pleased; Sons of the Alumni was vital for Knox, as it would let him visit influential ex-Welton candidates and hopefully gain experience for his legal career. He was gleeful, and as always, Knox's joy was catching. 

"Mr Perry: Welton Society Candidates, Chemistry Club, Mathematics Club, school annual, soccer." Neil let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, as Charlie gave him a friendly nudge and Knox's grin grew. He'd done it; the annual was his. All the sleepless nights he'd spent worrying about his application had come to fruition. With Charlie on the paper, and he on the annual, they could write anything they wanted, so long as it had a school focus.

"Mr Cameron: Welton Society Candidates, Debate Club, rowing, Service Club, Forensics, Honour Council." Cameron glows with success, shoulders thrown back. Neil felt a pang for Meeks; his chances had significantly decreased. He bitterly wondered if the redhead had paid his way into yet another club; Debate had only accepted him due to his family's contributions. Cameron couldn't hold an argument to save his life. Neil fancied he heard Charlie sigh too; another year of Service Club. To be honest, Neil wasn't even sure what Service Club was. All Charlie did was whine about it - clearly he wasn't missing out on much. 

All eyes then swivelled to the new boy, who still did not look up, though Neil could see a blush spreading up the boy's neck. His fringe had flopped in front of his eyes, so the blue gaze was hidden. Neil offered a comforting smile, though he knew the boy would not see it. Something about Anderson made Neil want to grin.

"Mr Anderson, based on your record at Balincrest: soccer, Service Club, school annual. Anything else I should know about?" Neil couldn't help but lean forward; he wanted to learn more about the mysterious new boy. Anderson opened his mouth to speak...

And nothing came out. He struggled and stammered but the words just wouldn't come. Usually Charlie would start to snigger but he's stared as intently as Neil at Anderson. The flush darkened.

"Speak up, Anderson." Nolan growled, but it was obvious that his attention had lapsed. The dean reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a few Crunchy Chews for the hunting hound at his feet. Did the dog have a name? Neil had never heard it. 

"I... I would... prefer... rowing." Anderson's voice was barely audible and he'd started to shake from head to foot. Neil felt a sweep of pity for the poor boy; he was clearly struggling. 

"Rowing? Did he say rowing?" Nolan was unsympathetic and instead drew attention to Anderson's nerves in the nasty manner Neil had come to expect from the dean. "It says here you played soccer at Balincrest."

"I did but..." Anderson's second attempt at speech was no more successful than his first, and beads of sweat broke out over his brow. His hands tightened into fists, knuckles glowing white. If he had had wings, they would have been juddering up and down frantically. Small miracles, Neil supposed. As the staring grew more intense, Anderson fought back tears. 

"You'll like soccer here, Mr Anderson." The matter was settled as Nolan slid the folders away, and produced a fresh set. "Alright boys, dismissed."

As the boys trudged from the room, Anderson pale faced with misery, Neil made a vow to himself. He was going to protect the new boy, no matter what it took, and he'd have him smiling by the end of the year. 

*

Neil decided the first thing he would do in what he'd titled "Operation: Happy Camper" was learn Anderson's name. Unlike his school masters, he wasn't fond of the whole surname thing; it felt stuffy and pretentious, though Pitts and Meeks wore it well. Luckily, he caught the wingless boy in a courtyard opening, clear enough that he could hop through a gaggle of first years, and surprise Anderson with a cheerful greeting.

"I hear we're going to be roommates." He held his hand out for the other boy to shake. "I'm Neil Perry." 

"Todd Anderson." The boy spoke morosely, but shook his hand. His grip was oddly cold; Todd could do with some gloves. Neil cocked his head to one side. His companion suited his name; short and sweet. Neil had never been a fan of his. It felt more like a command than an address. 

The two walked in awkward silence, as Neil wracked his brains for any topic of conversation besides the obvious. A lack of wings, whether they be bird, bat or butterfly, was practically unheard of. In the majority of cases, they were linked to childhood cancers, though Anderson looked too hardy to be that ill. Maybe he'd been in an accident and had to have them removed; it wasn't impossible. Just unfortunate.

"Why'd you leave Balincrest?" He settled on eventually. It seemed harmless enough, but Todd grew embarrassed. He shrugged his shoulders nervously, eyes fixed forward. 

"My brother went here." He mumbled, and Neil could suddenly see the resemblance. Jeffrey Anderson had been Welton's darling; valedictorian, captain of the football team, and all around heart-throb. His smile could launch a thousand ships, and made Neil's stomach plummet at the thought. He'd promised his father to abandon all thoughts of... An itch crawled up his wings, as if in warning.

"So you're that Anderson." Neil tried to make it seem like Jeffrey had mentioned Todd before, but that simply wasn't the case. Neil had never heard of him, though the thought made him sorry.

"My parents wanted me to come here all along but my grades weren't good enough." Todd shrugged again, his shoulders jumping beneath his blazer. Again, Neil felt his stomach swoop. Without wings, Todd looked oddly naked, vulnerable. Small. "I had to go to Balincrest to pull them up."

"Well, you've hit the jackpot." Neil laughed, trying not to be too bitter too quickly as the pair climbed the stairs to Neil's dormitory. The air felt muggy from the press of bodies, main him want to retch. "Don't expect to like it here."

As Neil muscled open the door, Todd muttered something depressingly similar to "I already don't."

Like Neil's hopes and dreams outside of Welton, "Operation Happy Camper" was going nowhere.


End file.
